


A Crossover Is A Terrible Idea

by hummingrightalong



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abraham lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amy lives, Asexual Character, Asexual Daryl Dixon, Carl Lives, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Jesus lives happily ever after with aaron, M/M, Minor andrea/Shane, Original Character(s), Rickyl, Shane Lives, Troy kind of wants to study Negan, don't ask me how some of these people lived I just can't live without them, glenn dies, jaaron - Freeform, mature scene in chapter 2, trick - Freeform, trigger warning in chapter 2: rape flashback
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingrightalong/pseuds/hummingrightalong
Summary: Our people from Georgia look for shelter to the North West, saying to hell with it when they meet the whisperers. It's been a good run in the south but those  fuckers can take the 'fuck that' train allllll the way to 'nopesville' after Jesus has an all too close encounter of the bullshit kind.They into the Otto fortress. Rick and Nicky hit it off, and find out they're more alike than they'd imagine (and not just because Daryl and Troy also have a lot in common).Retitled: Title inspired by a comment from Daniel Sharman





	1. So Show Me Family

**Author's Note:**

> Negan had to end up in jail for something, so Rick is keeping him locked up for killing Glenn. Check the tags, there's quite a few people I can't part with that I mentioned here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Nick bond, family secrets are uncovered. Troy is fascinated by the Southerners' prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an earlier edit, I was going to save Glenn. For several reasons, including Maggie's growth and strength after losing her husband, I didn't.  
> Abraham and others have survived, you'll see eventually.

The way they’d all settled in, set up, and had Troy’s family homestead back to its glory days (and then some) still stunned the kids from Los Angeles. To a lesser extent, the mastery in which he’d prepared the place for every conceivable end of the world scenario, as well as the one his own father had never foreseen, shocked the older Otto brother every day. 

Jake’s mother shook her head in disappointment if her son made a big fuss about it, telling him they were brothers and nothing should be a surprise. Obviously, as part of the original community (that Jeremiah had forsaken to make big bucks ‘selling buckets’) Mercy never made a big fuss out of living on the land, things that were natural, and the power of anyone that put their mind to *any* task. 

The eldest of their group, Mercy, had a few stragglers with her when they reached the settlement. They’d been hiding out, scraping by, and believing someone had to come to their rescue soon. An understanding rang out through those who were part of the large Otto family, a trust deeply ingrained in them showed by their cautious smiles and readiness to move out when Alicia had shown up with Cooper and some of the other militia members. The evacuation should be simple, Troy had assured them. One old lady and some canned beans. 

He’d been wrong, thankfully, and the school teacher had been not only surviving but leading a bunch of teenagers out of the chaos in the main part of town, somehow surviving on limited supplies and weapons until they broke into and refortified a property inside the not-so-secret community.

There were only a few simple rules if you belonged, simple and fair criteria to outsiders who held a genuine interest of living a simple private life. They still went to school, interacted with regular people, and abhorred the thought of making money off of their way of life- their philosophy was a friendlier version of those awful dramatic tapes Jeremiah Otto peddled.

Nothing like a bucket full of tools, a ‘for dummies’ kind of guide to ‘deliberate living’ that basically worked but ultimately was for cash from what Mercy happily informed Nick and Alicia later. Her marriage ended first and foremost due to that man’s insidious pursuit of personal glory and wealth. She had not signed on to see him warp the original message of peace and responsibility to ‘getting off the grid’ or ‘keeping the government out of your business’. If you possessed that much desire to hide from the rest of the world, you had something to hide. 

The Clark siblings had had all of this explained in two very different voices- the stresses of the apocalypse adding to the strain between them and making the differences seem more polarizing than they normally were- both men however seemed nostalgic when they spoke of their extended family but basically hopeless that they could return to it or reshape it when the old man died. Alicia and Nick agreed that, considering the world as it was, some of this was applicable. Not what they were used to, and certainly ‘a lot to unpack’, but a vast improvement to anything they’d been used to since the collapse of the modern world.

Troy took no offense but had no patience for doubters. Ok, well, a little more patience than he used to (thanks in large part to Nicky). Still it never ceased to amaze how he was able to take in consideration all that needed to be done, apply it to people who he didn’t know personally, or who he knew very well had no business on a farm. 

Farming was only a small part of the plan. As on the ranch in San Diego, there was renewable energy in the form of solar power for interiors, major conversions to gas powered vehicles that gave hope to long distance travel if there was ever need of it. Of course there was the security of fuel stores that dwarfed the collection the Ottos had hoarded in California. It was hard work, a lot to keep track of, and a few things lurked in the distant future nobody wanted to imagine except Troy or Jake. They didn’t talk about it much, didn’t have to. Instinctively they knew that someday the modern conveniences would be impossible to sustain. They’d make do, but that day would scare the shit out of most of the community.

So the Ottos, Mercy, and her students, were all patient and impressed with the progress the Clarks made as well as the determination of any stragglers that wandered in. 

The real measure of success of course, was how far away some travelers had come just by catching word of this place. Maybe it was the way the rest of the world had instantly reacted to ‘the new world’ (as Troy and Nick had begun calling it) by reverting to their base instincts. All for their own very personal reasons, the families settled in Washington vowed to never forget their humanity in the race to survive. 

If rebuilding the civilized world could ever be possible, no one should look at another person and think that taking their world apart- or taking it over- was acceptable. 

Families were more likely to get an invite inside the main compound. The irony wasn’t lost on Troy that a family had both reshaped and destroyed his entire world just a couple of years ago. Regardless, it was his rule. If they could not accommodate a group, a few of their own would volunteer to teach these people how to defend themselves, live well even, and soon the settlement had branches spreading out and thriving. Their efforts weren’t always successful. 

Through no fault of their own, people were lost in every way imaginable. Nearly as many arose to every challenge, showing their gratitude by volunteering to clean out the main roads into and out of the town, attempting to reach isolated groups that occasionally made contact by radio. There were setbacks and close calls, discovering that the distance between was overrun with the dead. This might mean redirecting a new group, relating the best ways to go around and loop back to the settlement. Sometimes the voices became faces, sometimes they went silent and- more than likely- added to the hoards beyond.

Then again, once in a while- alright on this scale just *once*- a group arrived by forcing their way through every obstacle, making a great big spectacle of themselves, arriving in a bloody mess and a show of strength that contradicted the plea for a few supplies and temporary shelter. 

“Just passing through,” their spokesperson had said. Instantly this man was likeable, almost familiar in the way he approached their walls and called up to the man at the watchtower. “Could use a little rest, maybe a warm meal...anything other than canned beans would be greatly appreciated, if y’all wouldn’t mind.”

Another man, looking just as weary and bloodstained prowled just behind the first speaker, mumbling too quietly to be heard but obviously disagreeing with his companion’s attempts to make contact. Several times the one man turned to the other, waving a hand or attempting to rest it on the restless one’s shoulder. He’d shrugged it off each time, looking behind himself and throwing up his hands. It was obvious he’d expected another to be on the same side, but the survivors that came forward next sealed the deal. 

A young man and a much younger girl held hands, the youngest child’s face hidden behind a well worn hat. The boy laid a gun on the ground in front of him, wisely showing peaceful intentions. The rest of their party followed, with the exception of the one carrying the bow. The most he’d do is sling his weapon over his shoulder, empty hands raised in annoyance. 

Nick had been lucky enough to greet them that day, not knowing what he was getting into but quickly seeing the value in helping these people out. They were capable, had come farther than any other straggler (insisting this was only a pit stop), and had a few children with them. The biggest baby there, evidently, was a wild man called Daryl.

Rick, their de facto leader had called him childish, a big baby, gaining a laugh from the two children as well as an obviously specific and targeted glare from the bowman. Nick knew what that look was made of, knew how to gain the confidence behind it, and confirmed his suspicions quickly as Rick swallowed hard but smirked and each kid wasted no time in calling more than one of them ‘dad’. 

Adorable. Something about the pale hunter stirred the ‘gut feeling’ Nick had about these people. He’d already been telling every man on watch at the edge of the fortress to hold their weapons, demanding that a couple of them signal further inside for whatever shelter might be free to have the basics delivered. Nick would do the introductory speech himself. 

The potential for hilarity was obvious before he even shook a single hand. The basic agreement went over smoothly for the most part, though as time went on the ginger that acted like a predator on a nature documentary. The beast has seen the camera crew but doesn’t give enough of a fuck to be spooked or even subtle about it’s intentions to shred the strange creatures should they close the distance. 

Oh yeah, so familiar. Nick did his best to be pleasant and Daryl switched from wild animal to practiced smart ass. As the basics were laid out- things like tending the crops or spotting and eliminating the dead beyond the walls- the newcomer went from ‘wild enough to shoot at’ to ‘not sure he needed a helping hand, and definitely not from a host that assumed he couldn’t earn his keep’.

“Never mind him,” the older boy rushes in, offering his hand to shake. His sister does the same, but spits in it first.

“Hey, we have television in there, anybody interested?” Nick offers to keep from laughing aloud at the nervous look on Rick’s face. The general vibe about him had sent a jolt of warning up Nick’s spine- everything should have screamed cop much sooner than it came up in conversation. The former drug addict had to accept that he was out of practice as well as need for that sense just to keep from physically kicking himself when Rick casually gave it up at the first question about his old life. 

“Come on Judith, you have to see this!” Carl dragged his little sister inside even though she and Daryl had maintained nervous eye contact the moment the adults said anything about a tour or work to be done. Seemed like the boy missed modern comforts more than he believed his sister would enjoy them; judging by her age it was unlikely she had ever seen it, and if she had it wasn’t a normal way for a kid to pass the time any more. 

The thought almost made Nick sad, remembering his own children. The most important job in life from now on was to make the best out of this life, and he knew his kids were lucky. Troy provided a life that afforded them the luxury of promising the kids’ safety, despite how scared his oldest had been of the dead at first. In fact thanks to all this they’d used dvds of cartoons to explain scary monsters, made a connection between the animated heroes and their parents’ skills with a machete. 

Nothing negated that awful feeling that crept in when the inherent violence and ugliness of the world got close enough to touch the children. That realization never came too soon, though unfortunately was the nature of life now and probably for generations. The couple agreed that, in theory, this was the way humanity had evolved. Perhaps not fair for future generations, people had brought this on themselves by taking the environment for granted, hurting earth until nature itself lashed out to burn the plague of the human race off her back. 

Those who survived would have to be adaptable, would have to be strong and hard; the prevailing theory was that initial survivors of the apocalypse had also been a bit of an asshole in some way or another to get as far as they all had.

“We have a few of our own,” Nick offered up. Rick smiled, made a gesture that said he once wore the big brown hat on the little girl’s head. An agreeable, even apologetic sort of man at first glance, Rick obviously spoke for his people on merit. The position he held had nothing to do with lack of wills and opinions amongst the rest of the adults. 

“That’s nice, where did mine disappear to?” Clearly Mercy had taken the excited youths into the main living area, her back was disappearing through the entrance now. She had missed so much of Jake’s life thanks to the threat her husband had made when she expressed her disappointment in the simple hard working man she thought she knew becoming a ruthless businessman with an alarming taste for alcohol. 

Imagine what you already know about that prick if you lived on the ranch. In all likelihood if you saw him outside the four walls of the big Otto house, you saw him at his best. He made sure of it; amongst his people, making his rounds, gathering the settlement for grand announcements, watching the stars all night in worry over a missing son only to berate the younger brother for showing up unharmed when his brother had not. 

All of that had been arguably reasonable compared to the private sins Jeremiah committed. The instant connection, even if only for the sheer joy of fucking with one another, made with Madison should be enough of a case. Behind closed doors, forget it. Jake had grown up believing his mom had bailed when he was an infant. Too immature or heartless to want him, as implied, was what Jake believed firmly until Troy got the disturbing truth from the one aunt that still dealt with the family- an old friend of Mercy’s who didn’t have the whole story from either side but knew her younger brother well enough to believe the first wife when she broke down and shared.

Jake’s mom had moved back to Washington while he was attending law school, Troy spent summers with Jeremiah’s older sister until he was old enough to be ‘needed’ back home; Big Otto had little use for Troy until he saw how much more organized he was than the current man in charge of the ranch’s militia (yeah he had always had one ready for whatever conflicts might arise once democracy fell). They visited once together, just the brothers with a cover story that definitely would’ve made their father suspicious if he’d known the woman had dared get close enough to contradict the shady excuses given to Jake and (not completely) fabricated personal heartbreak.

It got worse, but Nick didn’t love dwelling on that. That was Troy’s pain, the reality behind all that Jeremiah supposedly did or *allowed* in an effort to pay for the things he’d done to that kid especially. Troy had made so much progress, even more than Nick had ever expected from him, and definitely more than he would’ve thought following their first encounter. That was a funny story. 

“Sorry about that. He means well. Has better manners too.” Rick adds as Daryl follows the children inside without asking for permission. The main house was off limits to anyone outside the immediate family- Jake and Alicia, Strand, Gretchen, Diana, Nick and Troy. 

“Don’t worry about it. He reminds me of someone actually.” The younger man smiles fondly, wondering what Troy would have been like if he’d been raised even slightly better (probably just like their son Wyatt, if the time those two spent together said anything). Nick tried not to let his imagination wander in relation to their futures had their paths not crossed. Bleak at best. Even without Madison showing up and ruining everything, the Ottos were imploding. 

Nick and Alicia might have reconnected again, but if they had their mother would’ve done what she always did and spend too much time smothering Nick and not enough time appreciating Alicia. That said, eventually all the bad habits and the ease with which Nick slipped away from the family to avoid his mom’s oppression would’ve made his sister *really* hate him, not just hate the way she missed him until she stopped understanding why it was easier for him to go than stay (if not for himself for her at least).

“Not freaking likely,” one of the women had responded, a blond woman that carried herself like she expected you to know how important she was before you even knew her name. A younger woman who resembled her but carried herself with an air of hopeful enthusiasm, a gentle, friendly look matched the shy sweetness in her voice. She hung close to the older one, but spoke against the critique with a fair amount of sass.

“Don’t be silly, Andrea. We all owe him a lot.” ‘Amy’ ignores her sister’s hushed scolding, carrying on with a knowing smile when mentioning how Rick must feel hearing that. “Anyway, the little ones clearly helped decide our fate as far as Mr…”

“Otto. But you can call me Nick. My husband is oddly socialized, reminds me a bit of your friend there. Saves me time warning newcomers.” Not that he often warned new friends about Troy’s difficulty where first impressions were concerned. The older man had grown so much. Any quirk left over was a list of traits Nick not only wouldn’t change, but attributed to how hard he’d fallen for his husband. Taking ‘Otto’ when Victor had pronounced them married (of course Strand was ordained, whether or not it mattered) was therapeutic for them both. The final nail in the coffin for the woman that almost tore them apart with her final actions on this Earth. 

Ironically, Alicia had insisted on the opposite deal when she and Jake married. As usual she called the shots and he happily followed, in part still happy that she’d understood and forgiven that short period of insanity, even more grateful that she happily accepted his disability. 

“So, how can we help?” Several of them asked at once. Nick noticed that a young couple with a small child between them were barely on their feet. The couple are his age or older, and one of them looks like Pirate Jesus fucking Christ, with a long wool coat and a baby tucked inside. The blond one is his height or taller, looking fiercely protective of the Second Coming who is favoring his left side. A baby Rapunzel is tugging on the taller man's hand and stifling a yawn. She looks up, doesn't have to say a word, he just lifts her up. Wondering how he could get away with breaking the basic rules and who would be the most pissed, Nick was about to offer his own living room to all these people, at least long enough to furnish their own space, when Cooper whistled from the look-out post closest to the front gate. The walkie talkie crackled and hissed, then the big guy’s voice came through. Troy was waiting, caught up as much as he could and likely (from the hint of a smirk Nick heard in their friend’s voice) within spitting distance of the older harsher version of himself. 

“Come in. Take a load off. Sounds like your man has found mine anyway. The kids aren’t likely to give up their new playmates anyway.” Nick takes note of Rick hanging back until everyone has gathered their belongings (a meager few bags worth...obviously whatever they’d left in their vehicles consisted of mostly weaponry...a fact that would eventually be challenged and upgraded to another passenger). 

“Thank you. I swear we’ll put in the work to make up for the inconvenience.” He pats the younger man on the shoulder, nods with that easy confidence that seems unique yet still escapes the reformed troubled youth. 

***

As it turned out, Troy didn’t mind in the least that he’d been left entertaining a couple of sweet kids and their twitchy guardian. It would have been rude to ask, if it weren’t obvious already, that Carl was Rick’s son- they had the same eyes for one. Judith on the other hand behaved a bit like Daryl. That fact could be nurture over nature taking effect, as it was obvious the two were hopelessly attached, the older brother showing equal fondness yet at the stage in his young life where he’s cultivating a unique personality. 

Nick remembers those days, not sure if he went through that stage early or late but knowing neither Clark sibling had done anything ‘right on time’ according to the books and the way all responsible adults barely hid their terror at being left alone with the pair. He laughed at the thought, startling some but Rick offers at least 50% of his attention to the outburst. He’s not necessarily on guard, and certainly seems friendly enough when he turns to speak.

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” he begins, smiling warmly when the younger father shakes his head.

“Doubt it. Maybe. You have any siblings?” Rick says no, clearly open to continuing the discussion but waiting patiently as he has little personal experience to add. “Damn. You’re in for it then. Not sure if you got lucky or screwed the pooch, having them so far apart.”

“Carl is good with her. And I didn’t exactly mean to do it.” A glance from a very preoccupied Daryl is heavy with disapproval yet not directed fully at his partner. 

There’s a weight they carry together, through mutual suffering and the sort of second-hand baggage you carry when a loved one doesn’t know well enough to see that they’ve taken on more than is fair. 

That baggage seems to have a lot to do with another man that has no problem interjecting himself in the conversations and introductions, until the subject of the little girl comes up. If he were to look closely (as he’s sure Troy is already doing) he’d see the subtle resemblance between the little girl and the other cop, Shane. However Carl and Judith are siblings for sure, that much is obvious, and Shane seems happy enough when the little one uses titles like ‘uncle’. 

A quiet woman with long dreadlocks looks between them and rolls her eyes, mostly for the book-smart blond with a razor sharp tongue leading introductions and answering questions for the group. 

Michonne questions her wordlessly once or twice. It’s all in the eyes for the most part. Nick guessed if you caught her alone she’d have plenty to say, and perhaps that was what she waited for. The younger sister Amy interjected to laugh at anything outrageous, playfully shoving the blue eyed blond if her answers were correct but inappropriate for mixed company. 

Nick would love to get Troy’s take, scanning his body language and eyes for any hints. Clearly this was an overload in the sense that Troy desperately wanted to pull out his journal but for some reason only patted the pocket it was nestled in every few minutes. That habit wasn’t one that needed to be adjusted, that Nick thought was unhealthy, and never had he discouraged the use of it or given a damn what others might think of it. Troy had been shamed for the use of it as long as he’d been keeping the journals. There was a large collection of filled leather bound books in his childhood room, either finished here or sent regularly in packages to his aunt before she died (she’d understood, had done it herself...aha!).

“Alright, follow me if you’re looking for a bite to eat or a place to rest peacefully.” Weeding out the crowd, trusting them to spread out through their home, Troy displayed one of his finest talents. The group was more organized and settled, thinned out for everyone’s sanity, in less time than it took Nick to wonder if they actually *had* the space to accommodate these people. “Now where were we?” He asked moments later. 

“Where’d you learn that trick?” Daryl asks. Obviously the older man had yet to accomplish such a feat on his own, or couldn’t be bothered to try. He had settled into a seat with his children, allowing Judith to start braiding his hair. 

“If that still escapes you I don’t see how I can help.” Troy had an impish grin plastered on his perfect face, sharp cheekbones and impossibly blue eyes adding more of an edge to the whole effect than there probably was.

“Babe?” Nick had seen the potential for competition, even innocent misunderstanding, but Troy apparently did not need or want his assistance. Neither did Daryl. They’d already measured the other up, eyeballed a possible threat. They must have come to the same conclusion because they were deeply engaged in a comparison of their favorite ‘toys’ and how much better the arsenal could be than what they had in their pockets at that exact moment. 

Wyatt made a bid for attention, his tiny sisters following with full blown curiosity as soon as big brave brother claimed a spot on the couch, planting his butt in his father’s lap and laying his head on Troy’s chest- knowing the kid he’d lean in hard, like a growing pup unaware of his full strength. 

Wyatt was already spreading out and going limp, making it next to impossible for Cheyenne (Shy) and Poppy to share cuddles. They’d get their turn, everyone was equal in this home except Troy; he was highly sought after for snuggles as one of the largest and most responsible adults in the house. Nick couldn’t argue. 

“We’ve lost them.” Rick said solemnly. They both laugh, retreating to the kitchenette. ‘Help yourself’ is all the younger man has to say. They find themselves harmoniously preparing a snack until the guest spots a collection of dark brown bottles chilling in the refrigerator. He’d grabbed two, looking sheepish when Nick takes one and returns it. 

“Oh, dude, don’t even. It’s a long time coming. Go ahead. Really.” They sit opposite one another, polishing off the snacks at even pace. Rick goes for a second beer at the younger man’s insistence. “We’re never getting them back are we?”

“The men or the children?” Rick chuckles. 

“The kids I’m prepared for, eventually they sleep and I get my husband back. Losing all hope of tearing him away from a stranger with the same love for collecting big boy toys wasn’t part of my plans. If I had known they’d hit it off I might’ve sent you packing.” A lopsided smile from the host eases the tone of that statement, though his guest senses that the boys are almost dangerously obsessed with each other. 

“Kids change everything. And nothing at all.” Rick drawls, watching Nick totally relax. It had been some strange test after all. The former officer knew a bit about that game, having been tested at every turn by anyone without a badge. 

He’d seen his best friend stumble down the wrong roads to protect his macho pride, his perceived privilege of instant respect for the uniform no matter what the man in it was made of had been a struggle for Shane years before the world fell apart.

Sometimes he really had been a good man, but he let the little things steer him so far away. The world changing so fast and so much had challenged him, frightened him, honoring Rick by caring for his family seemed the right thing to do. Eventually pushing his pride out of the way, especially while Rick mourned Lori, and seeing that Daryl cared for his friend just as much as he did. The way Daryl cared for Rick’s daughter, whoever was really her biological father, had decided it and he’d stepped back into the familiar old position of friend. Eventually they all came for forgive him (or at least get comfortable with him) enough to allow him to carry on with them. 

“I keep getting this weird vibe from you man...it’s crazy right?” Deep brown eyes bore into him like there’s something wicked to dig up. Every man has something, right? No one is without sin. No one is without fault. 

“As the guest, I think it’s only fair if you give me a hint.” He meets Nick’s hard stare, sensing the odd ‘vibe’ himself, attributing it to that discomfort most people tried to squash down when confronting a police officer- be that in a random sobriety check, the grocery store, waiting to be booked at the station. 

“I’m going to feel stupid if I’m wrong, but you’re a cop aren’t you?” There must be a reason why all those extra senses you can only assimilate if you’re a serious offender or belong to a group of people that are outdated profiles of typical offenders. The latter was not a common problem where Nick was raised, for the most part, but prejudice had sometimes shown it’s ugly head when his dad was still around.

“I was. That was a whole other life as far as I’m concerned.” Nick nods in agreement, silently patting himself on the back for getting that out and getting past it. 

“So was being an addict, and a juvenile delinquent, but some things you can never completely shake…” Nick rolled up his sleeves, the evidence of faded scarring littering both arms in neat little patterns made by the habit. It was a mark of his strength now, a constant reminder of where he could be and what he would have missed. Of course he’d never have known to miss it, but that was a more maddening thought than all of the bittersweet memories combined. 

“Honestly, very happy to see that you did shake some things.” The former officer looks shaken, genuinely touched by the story of this kind stranger and the old school style tattoo that read *I SURVIVED THE EPIDEMIC' on a bloody bandage wound around a nasty looking hypodermic needle; the double meaning as clear as a punch in the gut. “Not including your sense of humor.”

“Never. I promise the shock value gives me little to no pleasure. The second best part of getting it was that an artist still existed, the irony of getting ink in an apocalypse, and the fact that I gave my sister the maximum amount of shit for hiding a homemade tattoo when all this had just started...when I was still using.” Rolling his sleeves back down, Nick let his mind wander to that night, to Troy surprising him with a tattoo of his name right over his heart. Nick had done the same later that day. The declaration of sobriety on his arm didn’t happen until later, and was done with much more consideration even though the artist was actually local (thriving member of the extended community in fact).

Strange but obvious that both men saw the opportunity to make a good friend as they chatted away. Even stranger that a few weeks into the temporary arrangement Rick was trying to plant the seeds into the minds of his family. Stay, he wished with fingers and toes crossed every time words like ‘long-term’ or ‘vehicle repairs’ came up. Little did they know, everyone was feeling a sense of permanence in the work they did, a net of peace and safety when they laid their heads down at night. Friendships grew stronger and that helped more than anything. 

Even if Daryl and Troy hadn’t become hunting buddies, they both noted how much their significant others enjoyed their long talks about nothing. They both scoffed at the notion of making that much noise, especially when ‘bonding’ meant hiding in a tree as quiet as fucking death (but better smelling). Waiting to catch dinner was no different than getting the drop on a ‘walker’. 

Troy liked the new term and declared that it made quite a bit of sense; being both more specific than common terminology for the west coast and less formal than ‘dead’ or ‘biter’. There were many others. The most obvious had been deeply stigmatized. ‘Zombie’ had been used in fiction for as long as the concept existed and often leaned heavily toward religious or magical origins. Ridiculous to a scientific mind, and just plain stupid to their friends in Georgia who had actually been inside the CDC. 

Furthermore, the other person they’d dragged along was endlessly fascinating to Troy and notes about Negan had filled almost an entire notebook. Their guests had barely explained why they had the man trapped in a traveling wagon, like a circus animal, before Troy decided that he wanted to meet what was *so* *dangerous* in there head on. The man had begged him first, ‘if you help me escape you’ll be so very precious to me’ and when that didn’t work and he had the founding father of the temporary stop inside the cage with him, it had taken no more than 30 seconds for him to attack. 

Troy easily outmanned him, a guy in his 20s against a mean old bastard who’d been in prison (in one way or another) for several years now. Troy insisted that the group build a brick and mortar cell, away from the big house, and that it be secure to his standards. Nick knew, a bit nervously since he himself had lasted no more than a few minutes talking to the intense man, that Troy wanted to keep him. That any deals these people might want to make for sanctuary depended on keeping Negan around. 

Negan, who apparently had come very close to brutally killing a dear friend of theirs, killed another named Glenn, was never to walk free again(fuckin cops). That was fine with the younger Otto brother, and Jake (Jakey teddy bear, his big brother and best friend before even his husband) as another founder of those new community, couldn’t say no. Troy was a difficult man to refuse. Nick feared that even if these people moved on, Troy would insist on keeping Negan ‘out of their hair’. 

“Don’t even think about feeding us rodents tonight Troy. We have real food.” Nick declared, quickly holding his breath when he got the first whiff of his husband.

“Hypocrite. You still come home smelling like death.” The difference was, when it might save lives, gas in the tank, and other supplies, Nick and Troy bathed in blood and followed hoards as always. “How do you know you haven’t already eaten it?”

“Squirrel death is obviously a brand new and fucking disgusting thing.” Daryl huffed, motioning for his and Rick’s kids to follow. They didn’t seem to mind. Carl was fully aware that he’d been fed anything that could be caught, just happy to have Carol around to prepare it after it was cleaned and unable to stare at her while she warmed a pot over the fire. “Don’t fuck with me! Hey...I haven’t right?”

“Give in, Los Angeles.” Rick teased, thankful they weren’t forced to survive off of what could be caught but almost fond of it by now. “Wait til you have it right.”

“There’s no way to ‘have it right’. The only real credit I’d give Madison is that she had the decency to leave behind her southern roots- this weirdness to show your hometown pride by cooking the first thing you can knock out is just not for me.” Nick looks around to be sure Troy has moved along. “Don’t repeat that name in his presence by the way. Worse than summoning the devil.”

“Madison, your mother?” Relying on his instincts and training Rick had put together enough detail while reading between the lines of everyone’s stories. Most left unsaid filled in the blanks better than what was shared. 

“I told you about the dam. If I missed anything that big, Troy definitely told Daryl.” The younger man added nervously, wishing he hadn’t even brought her up. Even to reinforce efforts to avoid guessing what the strange protein floating around in the stew might be this time. Bless the love of his life for teaching him everything life hadn’t, like how to grow dinner and then cook it well.

“A lot has been said. The worst one is Victor, I’d say. If you mean to keep the past in the past, he seems to find that difficult.” Nick laughs, but waves the idea away. He could always depend on Victor saying and doing whatever he damn well pleased, but he also knew *personally* that the subject of Madison would only conjure dark clouds to hang above all their heads. She featured in every nightmare, was in the background if not the direct cause for the very lowest moment of each life she touched. 

“Ok. Maybe I didn’t explain just how much of a *witch* she actually was. Troy nicknamed her the ‘white witch of the apocalypse’ before he knew just how thoroughly she’d ruin his life. I think he saw the idea come together. She came into his home, his settlement back in San Diego and *decided*...no, *declared* that the place would be ours in a matter of weeks if that’s what had to be done. The crazy part? I’d already been living there, as I might’ve told you. Troy was my boyfriend by then. Screaming that at her was the only thing that made her release her hold on the handle of the spoon she jammed in his eye.”

“Shit. I’ve heard part of this before. He makes bad first impressions? She’s a mother and I can see going to hell and back to protect your children-” Nick cuts the older man off, beginning to list all the happy homes his mother had ruined in reverse order. 

“I think every major event in her life had been evaluated the same way. She realizes she’s not in charge, looks for weaknesses, and even if that means she’s getting fucked over in the process she doesn’t care. As long as she has a way to control the situation. The Ottos, the hotel in Mexico, Victor and Thomas’ place...that’s not even the half of it.”

“I’m listening. You know I’ll take your word for it. I’ve told you the places I’ve been to be sure we all made it out mostly in one piece.” Rick says, sitting up giving his undivided attention to the story that seemed to burst out of Nick. It was clear that part of him felt the need to justify his actions, though his friend would never dare judge another who spoke with so much conviction. No one alive didn’t have a story that began with ‘I had to do it’. Nick definitely seemed to feel the most sincerely justified. The kid showed time and time again that personal responsibility meant everything to him. 

“I know man. You know I’ll keep telling you that you hold too much guilt for being a decent motherfucker. Not just for a cop, or a dad, or a friend, you’re a good fucking person. And so am I, after it’s all said and done. Bonus points for somehow not turning out worse. Most of the shit I went through she caused. She drove my father to death. She almost killed the love of my life. She neglected Travis, the replacement we didn’t want but found ourselves loving like he was our own father, she didn’t even try to save his son and thought that was alright if she was too busy keeping us safe. Oh, the cherry on the fucking homicidal sundae? She killed her own father. When she was a kid. Told us years later. Kind of used it as a motivational speech. If I didn’t know her better I’d question it. It just fits so well you know?”

The older man stares in silence for what feels like ages. In his own mind he’s clawing at a memory that floats in the distance, adrift amongst everything else associated with the old days mostly...there’s a little tug when Lori’s name pops up. It seems random at first, but then it’s like a siren and he’s pushing himself to open that box, shuffle through an index of loosely connected moments. Nothing sticks out at first. Not until he finds himself alone in his mind, sitting in a church pew (it’s not the familiar one in Georgia, though wherever it is Lori is more comfortable than Rick) forcing himself through a ceremony and the awkward condolences that have to follow. 

Lori’s family. Sort of. Her parents are there but as mourners (no he never wished anything evil on his in-laws, they were good people). The church is actually packed. A fact that his young wife finds strange. Not undeserved so much as unexpected. 

*A eulogy. Everything about it felt weird. Their seat was up front, only a few other attendees sat in the same pew. He’d known the woman too, had been dragged to holidays and smelled a pile of bullshit between her favorite aunt and her favorite cousin- they’d been best friends for years. Rick suspected some small time hijinks whenever the rowdy blond visited, hoping praying and *begging* his wife not to get in much trouble. Hadn’t even been sheriff’s deputy when the funeral took place. 

Not for the cousin. Her mother had died of natural causes or a sickness. Rick always thought his bullshit meter had been triggered first when Lori would not explain why the gatherings with extended family happened so far away from Alabama. The old woman lived in a different state. Was shockingly well-off and not afraid to support her blood relations if they asked for it (it helped that Lori was her favorite...possibly even when counting her own child, with whom the relationship was complicated...somehow). 

She happily footed the bill for Lori’s education, not hesitating to send ‘a little help’ when the young couple had Carl and needed so much, including a home of their own that wouldn’t bury them in debt if Lori chose to stay at home with her baby. 

*“Her final years were not easy, yet she faced all hardships in life head on, alone if it must be. The loss of her husband, the one and only love of her life, inspired her to use the rest of her life and earthly riches to help others. A selfless and loving woman, she raised one daughter who followed her own passions far from home. Would you care you come on up now, Miss-” Oh shit. Oh no. This couldn’t be. What are the damn odds? Daryl was going to lose his shit when Rick told him later. Had he told him this story? The best part came next. 

The blond cousin had made her way to the preacher, taken the microphone and repeated a few vague sentiments. Essentially the best of what other family and friends had to say. She closed the not so personal farewell by saying that, finally, her parents would be reunited. 

That had been about the same moment that Rick had felt free to take a long swallow of room temperature water from the bottle that had been at his feet. The church was hot, the family and it’s uncomfortable secrets making him that much more aware of his throat sticking, and even the tepid refreshment was a life saver. 

At that *exact* time, his beautiful young wife leaned in close, pressing their bodies together as if they weren’t smothered and sticky enough. “You know Madison killed her daddy, right?”

Please be a different woman. How awful. Of all the things to lighten the mood, this was what came to mind? Of all the years he tried to bury the memory of spitting a mouthful of piss warm water clear across the room, spraying several floral arrangements on a nearby stand. Of course everyone had seen it. He knew the family just so well that he expected the typical southern approach of kindly disregarding the horrible accident. What the hell could he do? Be Lori’s *simple* husband? Explain her fault in this? And, while we’re at it...WHY LORI? Why at that moment. Did it make a damn difference that the widow was dead now? Not if your wild cousin did actually do it. 

Obviously there was no proof. Even if there had been, the rest of the story came out later that night in bed- a guest room in the old lady’s home of course, they just had to spend one more night for memory sake. The blond, who had a family back in California and a career couldn’t do anything else with it but sell it. She left someone else in charge of those details. Her own husband and children never made it out here, Lori and Rick had gone her way once, met her small children after they’d become parents. The husband, who had been very welcoming, didn’t seem to hold any grudges against her family. Rick had never heard a remark to indicate that the family would judge or reject (was it Steve?) the man for the color of his skin. Time to man up and set things straight, the former officer decided. On the off chance.*

“Would you remind me what their names were? You mom and dad.”

“Ook, awful long pause there, senior moment?” Nick laughs, waving a hand in front of his friend’s face. “Steven, and Madison. My middle name is Steven.”

“I don’t know how else to tell you this. Carl and Judith are your cousins. Second cousins actually.”

“I’m not sure how that’s even possible. But if it were, wouldn’t Judith have to be yours?” Nick tries to knock some sense into the man staring straight through him and looking pale enough to cause some alarm. 

“No. Just Lori’s. Holy shit man, I am sorry it came up like this.” He’s so serious. What else can be done but take his word for it. Nick gestures for Rick to continue, and he does, ever grizzly detail including that awful story about this kid’s grandmother’s funeral. “There you have it. She used to come around sometimes, take Lori out and raise hell. I guess half as much as they used to. That’s how she measured the line between a good time and too much fun. Madison. Your momma. She weren’t lying about killing the man either. It checks out. So does the fact that she was meant to be staying with my wife’s family. That’s how she got away with it. Her momma was kind of nice. The kind of rich that makes you stupid just seeing how they live for yourself. Generous too.”

“If all that is true, and you spent all this time seeing her and my grandmother-”

“She told a lot more lies than that big one she confessed to. You said yourself you know how she can be.” Rick reached out to pat Nick on the arm, a small comfort. Nick lay his forehead on the table, whatever he was feeling hidden except for his shoulders shaking slightly. “You laughing or crying?”

“How could I not laugh myself to *death* Rick.” The young man that had been trying to pick up the pieces of all the lives his mother ruined, his own included, held a shit-eating grin. “The last blood relatives in the whole world, and I never would have known them. Now, here you are, with two kids and a boyfriend that’s somehow more socially stunted than even mine...a *cop* that knows my family better than I do.”

“Is it the career choice that bugs you? Like you said, the kids are related to you. Technically I’m not.”

“By marriage. It counts.” Nick scolds. “What, want to take it back now that you’ve put the pieces together dude?”

“Course not smart ass. Hey, count your blessings you didn’t have to attend all that shit. I hate to speak ill of the dead but the whole bunch was...well on it’s way to rotten. The apples fell very far from the tree.”

“Thanks to my dad.”

“Yep. So how do we…”

“Troy might want you to move, Rick...don’t ask yet. He’ll smell this on me before the end of the day, through whatever that dead squirrel funk is.”

“My other half is an expert tracker...my department and much much higher authorities called him in to assist in missing persons cases. How well does blaming your momma work around here?”

“How strong are Daryl’s feelings about Lori?” 

That’s good enough for both men. They kill time with a few more stories of surreal holiday dinners, dodging as best as possible details that could tie back to the Clark family’s struggles. It’s difficult. Still something about the whole chance encounter, becoming fast friends that schemed to trick the rest of the Georgia natives into choosing to stick around long term. 

“You have to stay now. A family splits up these days and you’ll *never* see each other again.”


	2. All The Blood That I Will Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Rick's group are given a permanent home, some things need to be worked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAPE TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR FLASHBACK

It’s pretty much official.

That doesn’t mean a convening of the ‘founding fathers’ wasn’t necessary to seal the deal.

So after Nick spent a few nights begging, pleading, and finally resorting to sexual favors, Troy promised that he’d consider making an official invitation for Rick and his family and friends to stay INSIDE the compound.

“Just think about it baby. It’s like you said, back at the depot. How amazing is it that people find each other this way? That family always winds up coming together? And how likely are we to ever see each other again if we separate like this?”

“Yeah, well, look how THAT turned out.” Truth be told Troy was already considering it for several reasons. First and foremost, he really wanted to *keep* Negan. For reasons. He was a damn interesting fellow and would be fun to break. He’d found plenty ways to sate his curiosity over the years but seeing him there, in that old “Dancing Bear” cage on wheels...It brought up all kinds of new habits. Besides that, it seemed that the occasional spats between Daryl and his boyfriend, ‘the narc’, as Nicky referred to his cousin - ‘by marriage, babe!’, that there was a damn good reason to mess with this guy a little. And take him off their hands.

So Jake, Alicia, Mercy, Troy, Nick, Victor, and Gretchen got together and invited Rick, Daryl, Carl, Glenn, and Michonne (not exactly a perfect cross section of the group but likely the most involved and the most reasonable/likely to agree out of everyone).

“So,” Jake began matter of factly, looking between each of his people and each of theirs. “A decision has been made on your behalf.”

“With a few contingencies of course.” Troy added, looking only a tiny bit put out. Maybe a little bratty, arms crossed over his chest with a pout, staring at the side of Jake's face as if he dared his teddy bear to deny him.

“What my husband means is he wants to take *sole* responsibility of Negan, first of all. That means - and No, we don’t intend to kill him - Troy wants there to be no talk of what’s done with him or why. Also, of course, you’ll need to contribute, which you have been doing.”

Gretchen goes over the finer details, nailing down expectations, getting an idea of what they have to offer themselves (not at all unsubstantial), and what they’ll get in return. Mercy welcomes everyone and talks about permanent arrangements. Victor casually feels the crowd for any kind of leg up (because that’s who he is and they love him for it).

“Done.” It’s pretty much unanimous. For some reason the kids seem a little disappointed, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed that they have a fascination or a soft spot in their heart perhaps, for the prisoner. But the man had hurt their daddy, their friends - their FAMILY - so the feelings weren’t soft enough to request that he ever be given anything more than his daily bread and a cot in a cell that would be built of cinder blocks underground for safe keeping.

***

That night Rick isn’t expecting Daryl’s reaction.

Personally, he’d just pulled himself away from watching the giant of a man (who looked so cherubic and seemed like such a darling until he got to work, so unassuming - he DID love his games) make a bawling mess out of Negan in a matter of hours. They talked about Lucille, not the bat, but the woman he’d named it after.

A story even Rick didn’t know much of. The reason, he’d overheard, *disgusting*, that itdi been so difficult for Negan to kill Glenn, even after what Daryl had done out of rage when Abraham had almost become the target..Glenn was Maggie’s Lucille. He was the best thing to happen to her and the only thing she had left. Negan said he didn’t even have that. That he should die for his crimes, that he wanted to die and end his loneliness. He begged to ask Maggie’s, Rick’s, Daryl’s, Carl’s forgiveness. Troy smiled as he denied his request, had spent his time there almost completely silent, only speaking to push the story along, took notes and stared deeply into the intimidating man’s eyes until he was a crumpled mess.

Apparently, Daryl had caught enough too.

It wasn’t often that Daryl made the first move, or any move, and Rick had accepted long ago that his partner was asexual. Once in a while that meant that something happened, if they were feeling especially close perhaps, or someone had a near death moment,or just if hit him.

After he’d been freed from Negan’s hold, it was obvious something had changed. Something that couldn’t be taken back. Something they hadn’t even done with total consent and love had been *taken* from Daryl. At first Rick thought it’d been psychological, the man had a way with words that made you FEEL like you needed a shower after all, and that time spent with his intense focus and determination to turn Daryl to his side; that’d take a lot out of a guy.

But the way he’d *attacked* Rick in bed shortly after he came back to him, the way he didn’t want to talk about why he was asking so different, took *offense* and tried to insult the man who was worried for his mental health “is this what *you used to do*. When you were a cop on a domestic call?” he’d spat violently when Rick voiced what he’d put together.

He’d eventually admitted, almost inaudibly, “I kinda just wanted it...to be...ya know,REAL...we ain’t done it like that.” They had gotten past it. With time. And patience on Rick’s part.

But tonight, after Negan was finally off their hands, Rick was in Daryl’s hold. He was stripped, nuzzled, and pushed into the shower. Slick and wet, soaped up with (dear god after so long ACTUAL bath gels) Daryl took both their cocks in a hand and slowly, agonizingly, until they both came, panting into each other’s mouth in a searing kiss.

“About time you got rid of him.” Daryl called to him as he drip dried and headed to their new bedroom. ‘Get dressed and get the kids into bed’ was heavily implied.


	3. Family Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl tells the worst stories. Troy can't get enough.

Troy has just a few of them himself, but in the interest of cataloging their new friends, he asks Daryl about his tattoos - the visible ones for starters anyway.

Just in the next room, Rick smirks at Nicky. Things are becoming familiar, normal. These two especially have a routine set out, lunchtime with the kids. Fortunately (or unfortunately) it gives their respective partners time to bond. “Wait for it. Daryl tells the absolute worst damn stories.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Nick replies, not-so-subtly leaning towards the entryway between the two rooms to better hear the conversation.

“This one here,” Daryl speaks matter of factly, and sometimes far too honestly. It won’t bother Troy but Nick is noticing that the expression on Rick’s face is something like a sympathetic warning. “Is my first.” 

If anyone were to watch, they’d notice that Daryl had to stretch an already thready hole in the thigh of his jeans to show a small black inking of a snake. “When’d you get it?”

“Ehh, I was about 14.” Rick is suppressing a laugh somewhere, and in the back of his mind, the ginger tracker knows this, and knows he’s listening from the odd stops in the conversations he’s half paying attention to. He carries on with his friend anyway. “Merle wanted one real bad. It was way past time- his words, but I suppose he had a point. Anyway, he was way too much a pussy to do it on his own. Damn near choked out the assistant at the shop soon as they asked for my ID. It was no one’s business, he said, and if they made it anyone’s business he’d be back for ‘em.”

“So, tough enough to risk jail time but too much of a pussy to stomach a needle?” Troy asks with a smirk.

“What did I tell ya?” Rick harsly whispers, making a midday treat for Carl and Judith. “Go get your daddy and end this before it gets any worse.”

“I think they’re fine, dad.” 

“Please.” He’s practically begging. It wasn’t that Rick didn’t *enjoy* some of the more amusing anecdotes, it was that they quickly progressed to a little sad and Daryl never seemed to know exactly when that happened. Sometimes he almost took offense at the gut-twisted looks his partner gave him when he related the more unfortunate ones, after the tracker finished talking about things like his brother and his childhood he often held a more bemused expression than fit the narrative.

Rick wasn’t above using their kids to stop this from happening. Really he wasn’t.

***

It’s not long before part two of ‘Daryl tells the worst stories- to our new friends’ comes out without a chance of intervention on his boyfriend’s part. Nick hears most of it from his husband later that night, as Troy goes over some notes in his journal. It’s gotten to the point in their relationship that Nick knows what kind of day Troy is having by which leather bound book is tucked away in the older man’s pocket, how many pages are filled, what kind of sketches show up as he flips to the most recent page. 

Sometimes with a color coded tab- or ten- sticking out to indicate...well the color code was still somewhat a mystery although Nick knew what certain ones meant. He half expected anything to do with Daryl would have a camo patterned sticky note (maybe those were just not in stock at the last few raids- Nick reminds himself to keep an eye out).

Apparently, the worst of Daryl’s stories have to do with his brother, Merle. No longer on this earth, in fact the last time the brothers saw one another the older one had turned and had to be put down. 

But there’d been a time when their new friend looked up to the, admittedly, bigoted prick that everyone else in their party remembered him as.

Daryl had related this time, almost proudly, that Merle had served briefly in the military after experiencing a place where his natural skills mostly applied during a court diversion type thing. He’d enlisted, done a short stint, and come home expecting applause - which he received until a few rules were broken in an American Legion. He was promptly thrown out for disrespect.

“So he tried another...” the now sole surviving Dixon man related. “And another...Broke every damn rule in every damn place. Usually the same rules, though everywhere is a little different ain’t it, some a little more lax than others but not enough for Merle...Even up North a few times, when we’d taken a long ride on our bikes across country, they’d heard of the motherfucker. Didn’t mind me one bit, or hold him against me, and I ain’t ever even served.”

“Fuck.” Nick whispered over Troy’s shoulder as he read along.

“Yeah, just when you think your kin is the worst.”


	4. Richard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Rick bond with alcohol and TMI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written entirely by my awesome girlfriend   
> lflssfrghtnng.tumblr.com

They were slightly drunk and bonding like family should. Rick had been listening to Nicky explain how it took him a grand total of 3 times sleeping with Troy before he’d realized the blond had been a virgin when they started fooling around (he’d laughed it off, told Nick he was being an idiot if he thought there should be any more importance placed on ‘the first time’ than any other...society’s got you rigged, man…) 

And he’s certain he already knows the answer, Nick has to ask if there’d been a similar experience with the older couple that reminded him so much of themselves. 

As it turns out, soon after losing Lori, after hallucinating like a lunatic and not being able to face his own newborn child for a somewhat shameful amount of time, he’d seen how easily Daryl picked up the proverbial ball he’d dropped. It wasn’t long after that that friends became...a *lot* more than friends. He couldn’t raise 2 kids alone - well he could but he doubted he’d do a stellar job - and Daryl was...something else. Something special. And when Rick decided to be honest with himself, he realized how attractive the other man was. Never thought of a man like that but, to hell with it. This was a crazy fucking world. 

He’d climbed into Daryl’s perch once, looking to face responsibility and ended up facing his feelings for the tracker too. Shane had told him where to find the baby, he and Daryl had had words, he’s explained sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve got no business with a kid if she’s mine, not with the way I’ve acted in the distant and not so distant past...he told me as much. I agreed, apologized for the meth-head comment too…” Rick had laughed. It was true. They both laughed, hugged. It was familiar. For the first time in a long time, they were almost *brothers* again.

They fooled around plenty at first, and it wasn’t like Daryl shouldn’t be *experienced* (he even had a couple years on him) but while he relates the progression of their sexual relationship at least even he knows it’s bullshit when he says that he was too ‘grief stricken’ to realize that every reaction- rather, the lack of reaction - he literally just kind of laid there, went through the motions a bit- combined with the experience Daryl seemed to have; it was definitely a red flag. 

Definitely something a former officer of the law should pick up on, they were supposed to have instincts, notice the subtleties of even the best of lies. A good man should definitely know these things. But he was half out of his mind when Daryl shook him out of it, forced him to for the sake of the kids while clinging close to keep on eye on them and their father. 

“Sir? My analysis is complete. You...are a dick. Wait, someone named you Richard. Right? That's your name. Someone *knew*. Even then. And they. Named. You. DICK.” Not always being the most moral of guys, and certainly having missed not so subtle cues himself- Troy’s behavior all around screamed ‘please my daddy at all costs’ as well as ‘emotionally and sexually stunted’; thanks to trauma in all likelihood.

Just like it was eventually apparent to THE COP that Daryl must’ve turned a few tricks (crass but true). For Will Dixon, for Merle, for close to the same reasons probably. Drugs, liquor, the other debts an asshole has to pay to other assholes- the kind of circle that’d make sure those kind of people would have no problem passing around a kid to settle a score. 

" Hey hey, hear me out. You don't get to know Daryl and think 'this guy's been turned out', ok?" Not through their blossoming friendship, not even if you hated the guy (and he’d made a few enemies along the way, some would argue it was well deserved but Rick had always seen his potential) did a glimmer of his trauma really show through. It was obvious he was *behind* the majority in emotional development, but he managed to make it seem like a choice almost.

 

"Rick the dick." The younger man reiterates. 

 

The former deputy lets out a sigh.

 

"Fair enough"

 

"Rhetorical. I think that's grammatically correct. My step was a fucking English teacher. Still, I may be a disgrace but you're Rick the dick so, hey." Nick had never known an officer that was so nice, that held himself so responsible for every action. But still.

 

"Is that an ethical or moral win?" Rick asks looking like he’s ready to hand it over either way.

 

"You're the cop...that's a question exclusive to your profession. But ok, the piss has been taken, irie? Continue with your lurid tale..." 

 

The comment makes Rick laugh, remembering the few times he met Steve-usually at depressing/oppressive family functions- and the man's tendency to use that phonetic substitute. He always liked the man, often ended up eventually spending the horrid little get-togethers in some out of the way place with him and a lot of alcohol.

 

"For real, man? Lurid?"

 

"Hey, if the descriptor fits..." A good guy, better than himself, the young man thought, but yeah...everyone makes mistakes and apparently Rick had made some similar ones.

 

He hadn't even gotten him naked enough to make the obvious unavoidable. His name is Richard. And it suits him. 

And still the weird part wasn't the knowledge. It was that he seemed...fine. Hell, kinda more than fine, like maybe happy? Whatever Daryl's equivalent of not scowling was, at the time. This place might be paradise though, because the legitimate stability has given Rick the chance to see, and /appreciate/ how pretty his actual smile is. And don't no one even think of telling a soul that he'd even though the word "pretty". Not even for a second. 

They messed around, spent downright domestic/married time together, Everything about them was normal, better than, “relationshippy”...but the sexy stuff was pg13 at best. Rick had thought he was screwing it up but chose to be a man and just ask. Daryl liked the kissing, didn't mind turning him on but wanted his part in it to end there. No offense. he, himself, wasn't ‘turned on’ per se. His own version of its equivalent. And he seemed - was- truly sincere. So Rick didn't press it. 

They've only done "it" once since. After the saviors. Daryl wanted 3 things, Carol, the kids, and Rick. Rick thinks some people might judge him for letting it go down under the circumstances but fuck em. Daryl wanted something *real*. he gave him real, Daryl got off. It was...nice. So sue him. 

Fucking Andrea could have at one point, and probably still would, if only just to be her pain in the ass self in spite of her somewhat continued misgivings about Daryl's weirdness...but that's a whole other problem and Shane is the solution. 

Hey, Rick finally gets it. Shane has been preparing to ‘deal with’ the issue that is Andrea since high school-and oh does he have the stories to prove it...sometimes a woman has to get laid. By a complete fuck head. Rick's endless suffering during all those selfish ego (over?) inflating talks, the betrayal of his best pal fucking his wife...it was so he could unwind that uptight bitch once in a while. 

With maybe a tiny bit of satisfaction for Rick after all the consternation she'd caused and it really couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. 

But in all seriousness, they were actually good together...Rick's come to love her and her strong willed, somewhat abrasive nature, just as Shane has.

But the sex that night, when he was finally home, had been nice. Daryl said so himself. Their first *naked* sex. Daryl didn't say much, didn't give Rick a chance to question it or make some kind of rational plea/protest. He just smirked and pulled out the lube.  
They took their time with the lead up, honestly neither wanted to mess up a button or anything else that might need repair (ain't sewin' shit, Daryl had muttered between kisses). Rick had taken note that Daryl came back to them in a downright presentable shirt, with *sleeves*, as if to say 'if I make an effort will y'all take me back?', knowing in his heart they would of course.

Anyway, moving on from all that, him and Daryl do stuff. Other stuff. They kiss. They touch. Sometimes Daryl touches him, sometimes they touch each other but usually Rick gets hot and bothered before he "cools off" on his own. 

If Daryl needs anything more, he almost always handles it himself, having vaguely explained that what he'd now accepted as his 'asexuality' sometimes meant he got turned on but it was kinda a ‘me-time’ thing, to be dealt with personally and *alone* most of the time. 

He *does* have a *spot*, had marked it with an x - prison tat style - which Rick found incredibly helpful (sexy as hell, too) when he was privileged enough to enjoy *that* with him...again, no offense is meant, and none was taken. 

There was no awkwardness, back to business as usual. This is his life in the new world, never could have seen it coming but he wouldn't have it any different either. Also a surprise but the new world doesn't really support the "backwards" (Nick's word) ideal of the nuclear family. And he's got a point. His kids have been raised by a literal village of people. Some they've kept near and dear, some they've lost along the way in spite of the human spirit’s will to survive.

But Nick will always have to point out that his name *is* Richard and sometimes 'Rick' should be 'dick'. with a capital 'D' cause it's a fucking noun..*Travis*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick's dad, Steven Clark, is Jamaican. Frank Dillane is biracial so deal with it. Lol.


	5. Say Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Troy are married, Victor is ordained, what the hell are Rick and Daryl waiting for?

In the case of the younger couple, it had been an organized affair. Well planned, efficient, and kept secret and carried out at the last possible moment. 

Troy had been falling asleep rubbing Nick’s ring finger since almost the first time they fell asleep together, Nick’s arms wrapped around a much longer body cause Troy gets tiny when he wants to and tucks himself as tightly as possible to fight in the embrace. 

But the younger man actually *hadn't* seen the ring coming. He should’ve guessed about the way it had been acquired. It was just so was wholly and truly *him* (ok *them*) but he was shocked, had shed the happiest tears in his life. 

That’s a hell of a thing, and Nick will always defend his tendency to bust out the tears- happy or otherwise. But it’s a rare few times that life can make you cry with joy.Troy has done it on so many occasions...no one should be lucky enough to feel love like that. But he gets to. And he’s just so fucking grateful.

*

As far as Rick was concerned, the subject had never come up. Ok, he’d never asked. After all they’d been through he should have *maybe* considered it, but...well, sometimes you think you know everything about the person you’re in love with. And in all honesty, in the past, it’d been a very him thing to do, think about shit like that right off. Lori hadn't been waiting on a ring like some girls, was so shocked - and even though that look she got was one of the ones he remembers fondly, he’d thought for one terrifying second that she might say ‘no’...of course, it occurred to him just one moment too late that sometimes you can make the littlest, stupidest mistakes with assumptions. 

For instance, he’s done it again...he’d never thought Daryl would want something as traditional as marriage (he remembers the feral man throwing a string of bloody squirrels at him all too well), and besides, Rick’s previous experience was a decidedly bad example. It had given him the 2 things he can truly take pride though. But with Daryl, it was touch and go sometimes. He was unpredictable - something Rick kinda got a thrill out of...but the past and what he knew were all damn good reasons to think he knew well enough to know they were perfectly comfortable quantifying their relationship as just that - a relationship. They didn’t need, and didn’t use any fancy words.

Right? 

Getting together wasn’t exactly a natural progression, didn’t happen...organically? But it happened and it wasn’t going anywhere. He would chase that man to the ends of the Earth, his wanderlust be damned. He'd never felt that with Lori. She wanted passion and truth be told he didn’t feel it, not like THIS. He literally burned for this man. The lack of sex, it never once occurred to him to be bothered. A kiss set him on fire...And Rick thought knowing that was just fine. Really he did. 

That little shit...the boy that was related to his ex wife, and in turn by blood, to his kids, had other ideas, apparently, and innocently, fucking *offhandedly* mentioned during a day of hard work and watching old men try and fail miserably to flirt now that safety gave them the time and energy to explore that part of their relationship (how awkward...it’d be cute but...how *awkward*), “Victor is ordained you know.”

“Yeah, we know,” Rick smirks, looking pointedly at the simple but attractive ring on Nick’s left hand. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Rick had heard the story several times. The kid couldn’t stop telling it.

*

“So, he spends *days* doing this, right? Days dragging Jake out at the oddest hours- whenever I was preoccupied really, fucking waiting in trees,laid out on the roof of one of the humvees, perched on the tops of buildings. He Lead them. Like a shepherd. More gracefully than he had to the ranch...Watching with his eye through a scope. Leading them with carefully placed shots and explosions (he’s got the science of it down he really does). He had sirens set up one day, Rise Against blaring from the stereo another. Drove the fuckers nuts. But that was the plan. He was driving himself and Jake nuts not spotting *just the right one* so they kinda brought it on themselves.”

“Must have been kind of fucked up for big brother,” Rick replies (Ricky, to a few of them, to mimic the habit Troy had of the diminutization of his husband’s name- he’d always done it and wasn’t about to break the habit).

“Funny thing, it was actually pretty therapeutic for him. I mean basically, they were corralling ‘walkers’, hell shoulda seen him the day we cleared the main drag to the Canadian border. Found a bridge and led them to the edge where we cut a hole in the guardrail. Crazy fuck volunteered to be biter bait.” Nick still finds the word, ‘walker’ a little odd, but appropriate, even if it’s far from the terms they’d come up with on the west coast “He gets a harness on, they swing him out over the abyss, ‘want another taste’ he’s screamin, taking shots at them, and they did, so they fucking lemminged themselves off the edge...anyhow, Troy was demanding that Jake run out and hack off their left hands. Apparently, the point of the exercise was either misunderstood, missed entirely, or Jake just sort of started getting into it and was dragging back nearly whole friggin arms before Troy finally explained the purpose of the exercise.”

“Right, I guess I can see how that might...work out.” They both stop to take the time eavesdropping on a conversation between Alicia and Jesus. They’d become fast friends. 

Truth be told it went a little like ‘you ever have any troubles with him, or he have any troubles with himself after…’ Paul would motion a swift chop to the arm (opposite for the men in question but ironically both their dominant hands) ‘I know my way around the delicate relationshippy parts of being with a man like yours...if you get me. Aaron *was* left handed’. 

*

Rick and Nicky don’t handle the process with as much...finesse as Troy and Jake had perhaps, but they handle it, and quickly. A market had what they needed, at a reasonable price even, especially with Nick’s connections...it amazed Rick how these kids had flourished. They’d struggled so much, fought so hard, but been so much more successful than his own group. Luck of the draw maybe.

Mostly due to the not so subtle hints from the former finally culminating in a “I wouldn’t mind,” Daryl said, quiet, from a distance. It wasn’t filled to bursting with his usual sarcasm so that spurred Rick on, was almost a little shy...to Rick, it suggested that there was an equal chance that they’d gotten to a point where marriage was not only an acceptable discussion, but somewhat expected. Possibly even for the benefit of the children; though Rick knew that the tracker was just as serious about him. That passion he felt was more than reciprocated. To be honest Rick had been hesitant, almost ready to completely swear off the idea of a second marriage when he and Lori had had ‘troubles’ before the apocalypse once or twice. But again, this is Daryl...who he can now admit with more than a bit of certainty, is the love of his life.

Not believing his luck, the nervous Mr. Grimes soon enough found an intricate band with a raised skull motif, glittering red jewels in it’s eyes; the sheer size and metal type, the sickly intricate detail that matched Daryl’s tattoo motif perfectly, was enough to not think of it as too feminine. 

Also, it was fucking perfect. “Check this out, he’s going to love it.”

“Huh. Check out your luck. Now comes the easy part- the wedding.”


	6. The Trip Northwest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback for Rick. Michonne has a theory about the south and why they need to move on. Carl is going through puberty during the apocalpse. The crew begins to notice that walkers are different as they travel northwest

After much consideration, voting, and more than a few arguments, the group decides to head North. With Negan in tow, which was the reason Maggie and Daryl especially hadn’t been happy with him for a few days, Rick was tempted to reach out with a prayer once more- anything to give them a break or lift their spirits. He’d decided they couldn’t, wouldn’t, let their prisoner go, which took a toll on everyone but truth be told he had to do it. As a officer of the law, even if that had been some time ago, he upheld the belief (the faith in his *job*) that the ultimate punishment wasn’t a punishment at all. He wanted Negan to suffer.

So he’d locked him up, and when they decided to move on they’d found a traveling prison. An abandoned travelling circus (for the sake of the children that wasn’t something anybody wanted to dwell on long) had left a big cage on wheels, with thick bars meant for keeping one of the most dangerous animals behind them. After careful efforts to make sure nothing was still inside it- someone must have been kind enough to release the animal before it was abandoned- they packed another one inside. Now until the daily three squares came, that was only the only humane thing to do as Rick said, Negan could spout off all the bullshit he wanted (if he wanted to attract walkers- and the first few days he *did* try) but nobody would have to listen to him.

Michonne had been the one to come up with the theory, and as they traveled North, anyone who doubted her, or was just plain hesitant about leaving what they already knew, was beginning to see the truth. They all owed her an apology, but she’d bide her time for that. What was important was that they slowly made their way Northwest. The move was slow; getting the rare supply stop on the way proved yet another part of her theory true.

As one of his most trusted allies (and currently the least pissed off at him), she and Rick had conferenced about it months ago. As they’d both suspected, they were on the same page about things, and he trusted her, had wondered the same thing time and time again but didn’t want to fuck anything up more than he felt he had when it came to making decisions for the group. He was as comfortable as the rest of his family and friends and feared what they’d find (if anything) once they moved on.

“I think it’s worth the effort. My gut is telling me we’ll run into a lot less assholes- don’t tell me that’s not our biggest problem. Negan is neutralized, but there’s always another Negan waiting around the corner.” Rick nodded, it was true after all. Before the apocalypse and after. There’s always a bigger bad around the bend. They’d thought they met the worst with the governor and then they ran into fucking cannibals and so much more.

“Along with the hoards. That part I’ve worried about myself, Michonne. It doesn’t seem like they’re even slowing.”

“No, there’s *more* of them. I can count on that and so can anyone else if they bother to look. And I’m not just talking walkers when I say that.”

With that decided they had been on their way. Life wasn’t much easier for a while, until they started making some real progress North. At first it was only a whispered observation here and there, an exclamation of relief when a fight ended faster and easier than they expected. 

Even with the obvious slowing down of the risen dead, the little group was exhausted. As the months and years had dragged on, comforts given and taken away, it was an absolute miracle of some kind when Andrea and Shane scouted ahead and found a motel that only needed a little work.

“No surprise here, but it needs to be cleared out first, its actually not overrun though-only a couple. Other than that, the motel seems to be in pretty good shape, clean even.” Andrea presented the idea, knowing damn well no one was going to argue with having to do a little work to get a real night’s sleep in a real bed. 

Their vehicles were safe enough, and provided plenty of warning when needed, but four walls, separate rooms with doors that locked...it was a dream. 

Of course, *somebody* still felt the need to lighten the mood with his special brand of humor. "Y'all found it, huh? doin' what?" Daryl had interjected. Everyone had been excitedly chattering about the possibilities, and rightfully his comment should have gone unnoticed, but everyone present turned to look at the couple. They’d found comfort in one another, each having had a string of bad luck when it came to romance (and as Daryl had said aloud though most were thinking) Shane and Andrea were the same kind of asshole and no one else deserved either of them like they deserved each other. 

His opinions might have had something to do with a not completely unfounded theory about how Shane had reacted when Rick first returned. Just watching them was enough to know that they were close; some part of Shane loved Rick as much as he had loved Lori (Daryl believed the other cop was painfully aware of the fact).

 

“None of your damn business,” Andrea said, quickly turning to her sister when Amy mentioned that she was *totally* not rooming with them. Luckily Grandpa Dale had no problem holding a pajama party with her and Beth and any of the other young ladies. Not like that...he liked to keep them close, worried for them, and liked being that comforting presence of a fatherly figure after so much loss.

Yeah, they've well gotten passed the point of teasing. Living in that close of quarters even someone like Daryl Dixon can develop a casual social rapport. 

 

Even so, everyone is already on the move, none wanting to spend another increasingly cold night half asleep in tents surrounded by their vehicles is some sad attempt at a protective circle.

Carl wants his own room; considering the amount of sneaking around he’d already done with his new girlfriend, he rightfully shouldn’t be trusted alone with Enid- who began travelling with Maggie after her parents died.

Rick and his son argue about the arrangements while clearing out a single walker in the bathroom of the large space they’d scouted to fit the family of four. Dad wants both kids close. Daddy (as Daryl has been called by Judith since she learned to talk, Carl following suit) wants that even more. 

The former can’t fathom why they’re having a fight about the kid getting his own space in these times.

“I don't know what the hell has gotten into that boy,” Rick says, running an hand through his hair, exasperated. The kids are still checking the place out and finishing a late meal in Maggie and Glenn’s room for the moment. Which means the eldest and his girlfriend (who has already been granted her own space) being well chaperoned at the moment while his parents ‘spend some quality time together’- really they were just talking over the trip so far, and the evening, daddy trying to cool off dad in his own unique way. 

 

Instead, Daryl laughs, irritating him all the more.

 

“Rick.” he says his name, pointedly...and nothing more. Yep, the world and his loved ones are out to drive him crazy...

 

“What?” He sounds harsher than he means it to, but Daryl laughs at him, *again*. “Damn it, don't fuck with me right now!”

Daryl seems to try to contain himself but he's only managed to suppress it back to that adorable pain in the ass smirk he has.

 

“Rick, he's 16. I don't think we gotta worry about Enid all that much, she’s pretty damn responsible, ain’t stupid, and Maggie being her caretaker gives us that much more a buffer. She’d kill her before you got the chance to lecture Carl. Now come here.”

If he were a smarter man, weren’t a weak man, Rick thinks, what Daryl does next should’ve tipped him off long before the tracker managed to warm him up.

When Daryl kisses him they both smirk into it, their beards are a little unkempt and scratchy again (how the hell does Jesus do it? Keep himself so damn well-groomed, even on the road. What they’re doing is pretty gay so no one is gonna blame that, still though) but Rick is already feeling a warmth spread through his body as Daryl palms him through his boxers. The kiss heats up, Rick moving along to find the X tattooed on his boyfriend’s neck. It marked his spot alright. The gentle press of lips, Rick’s mouth parted just enough to scrape teeth along the dark ink against pale freckled skin is all the other man needs or wants out of this. 

Rick is out of bed when his boyfriend rolls over and smirks, jerking his head toward the bathroom door.

“Rick, where do you go when you ‘take a walk’?” Takin’ a walk shouldn’t be any kind of sexual innuendo but for them it was the very serious way they used to communicate Rick’s need to ‘finish what they (Daryl) started’. “Well, I *think*, pretty sure anyhow, that Carl just wants his own space to ‘take a walk’ once in a while without his parents 5 feet away.”

Oh. Ohhh...Carl’s gone through puberty during the apocalypse. Shit.

“You could have Shane talk to him.” More jokes, and Daryl doesn’t even get the whole thing out without laughing. 

“Absolutely not. Last thing I need is Carl learning to act like Shane did at that age.” For all the stories the cop had about his brother in arms, he sincerely did not want his son learning any of Shane’s disrespectful rambunctious ways. They were both kind of hellions back in the day- at the very least Rick followed Shane along in awe; not being a ‘loser’ or anything but his buddy had been wildly popular, especially with the ladies. Too much so, and those bad habits had followed him into adulthood and (whether he knew it at the time or not) that string of short casual connections had made him a lonely man who was definitely jealous of his best friend’s settled bliss.

“You considered it for a second. I saw. Really *wish* I could help but I don’t exactly do that much and I didn’t really have that problem even then.” For literally a *second* he had, but Rick has always known that the second the doctor hands you your bundle of joy and says ‘it’s a boy’, you have to know this conversation is coming.

He feels a little guilty, like he’s shirked his duty as a father but they’ve all been pretty busy running for their lives. If he’d thought of it at all, he might’ve figured Carl would be too distracted for even that. No such luck, huh? And Daryl really could not help, hadn’t had *those* urges a whole lot, even back then so it wasn't like Rick even had the option of talking him into it. 

So the awkward conversation happens, and ultimately Rick allows Carl to have his own space but makes him promise to choose somewhere very close to them, the next room over, the adjoining door open a crack unless...yeah. But never locked. After it’s all said and done, while they’re saying goodnight for real this time, Daryl actually does the kid a favor by changing the subject to the ‘new’ variety of walkers they’d been noticing. He makes a bit of an announcement about it to anyone still awake and ready to listen.

“We’ve all seen it, haven’t we? This trip was meant to happen. Those suckers are slower, kind of stupid, not nearly as damn mobile as what we’re used to. I even think they’re totally blind, where back home they seemed to have some vision…”

“That’s right,” Rick jumps in. “The first time I realized that, one of the damn things was following me through that mass in the city, shovin’ past the others even.”

Amy hugs anyone standing near enough, adding her own observations. “Haven’t even seen one climb, or turn a knob…they seem almost…”

“Stupid. Good.” Beth finishes. 

With everyone agreeing they retreat to their rooms, all agreeing the next morning that the new (strain?) of walkers, the comfortable beds, and getting some overdue personal conversations out of the way had attributed to the most peaceful sleep in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a theory myself every since I started watching both shows that the strain in TWD might be slightly different than the one seen in FTWD. (Maybe it's a continuity error but I'd like to think there's a possibility for some interesting fan lore here)


	7. Jesus Christ That's A Pretty Face (Aaron x Jesus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Jesus find some sex furniture to work around their various injuries. Basically smut, and a little getting to know their new hosts.  
> Minor hint at Gretchen Trimbol and Beth Greene

The first part had been easy enough, surprisingly. The Ottos- Troy and Nick specifically- had given them all the run of a local market. Especially the couples with children. Apparently the farm traded with the place enough that their credit was practically limitless and they didn’t mind sharing the wealth with their new buddies. 

Maybe the taller one was still paying for his new ‘pet’. Aaron didn’t care to dwell on it much and he had a mission. 

Somewhere along the way they’d been blessed with a second child. Ok, they’d seen a putrid couple rotting in the sun and a newborn baby squealing in the back. Locked away from its parents. Like they knew. And of course they did.

Jesus had taken to the little thing faster than he’d taken to Gracie. No nerves this time, no hesitation. He’d held him against his bare chest with the duster wrapped around them both, still recovering from his injuries but delightfully distracted on the (very bumpy) trip. 

They’d called him Dexter. Parts of Aaron swelled against his will whenever he watched his boyfriend cling to the infant, feeding Dexter, cooing and giggling along with him.

“I don’t know why I ever bother with a shirt anymore. He doesn’t like it.” Dear GOD, yeah, forget the shirt.

Even wandering through the market, looking for an excuse to separate and find the vendor that Nick Otto had told him about, Aaron smiled through the (ahem) pain of watching his little family pick up diapers and formula, thankful as always to their host. 

As soon as he could he came up with a weak plan. “Gracie wants to go this way- heard there were some toys more her age.” 

“Mmmhmm,” a distracted reply maybe, but he gives Gracie a kiss on both cheeks. “Have fun, don’t overstay our welcome.”

“I’ve already got that worked out. I know where I can help out around until you’re back on your feet with me.” Aaron calls as he ducks away.

When they find the little stall, the former politician and volunteer is excited for the first time in a long time at the site of people *really* getting together. Just outside the gates there’s a fading stench, and a few armored men run out, leaving their carts and baskets while vendors and passerby say various thank yous.

“Less and less these days, with the way the Ottos have rerouted highways and set those posts up. How can I help you?” The vendor smiles, looks at her assistants, who are ready to fish out more from the back. Looking at Aaron no assumptions are made, and they all just laugh as Gracie paws at the selection of rings she can reach.

“That one!” She calls out. It would fit *her* finger, maybe someone slightly older. Definitely not. 

“That one is for a girl. A very small girl I think sweetie. Daddy is a boy. How about something a little less flashy? Still...pretty though.”

“Could you describe him? That always helps. I did this in the old days. Never failed to satisfy.” Oh thank goodness.

How could he describe him? “5’7” or so, I’ll know the size about when I see it I’m sure.” Yeah he knew his hands pretty well. “Oh, if it helps...he looks a lot like Jesus Christ. It’s...kind of his nickname.”

“Here’s a few.” It doesn’t take long to select something simple and masculine but absolutely gorgeous. Just like Paul. “I can resize if it doesn’t fit.”

Wow, they really did think of everything.

***

Just on their way out, the ring safely tucked into one of the straps of his prosthetic, the woman with the long hair that Paul can’t wait to get his hands on grabs Aaron and steers him away. “You’re riding home with me. After we make another stop.”

A little nervous admittedly, and even more so when Beth shows up with the girl he remembers as Gretchen, giggling and climbing into the backseat, they head into the main part of town. He’d barely gotten time to kiss Paul goodbye, but he’d just smiled and told the blond to make friends. 

They drive to the town center, and he sees that they’re making attempts to rebuild or refit some of the storefronts into homes for the groups that don’t live on the farm. The only place that still seems unoccupied is one that has a big sign reading:

The Fu**ing Country Store

Oh dear.

Alicia leans over to him with a huge grin. “I’m guessing that sex has been a bit of a challenge for you guys. And lately nonexistent with his injuries.”

“Uh...we worked around my disability.” Aaron blushes. 

“I *bet*, I was there and back again with Jake. And you seem about as sweet as he is. So I’m going to help you. Besides, they had to be really careful with Troy after his head injury. So I know exactly what you need. I made this haul with my brother. So chill, *that* could’ve been embarrassing.”

“Wasn’t it?” He asks as they get out and Gretchen grabs Beth’s hand. They run for a forklift as soon as they’re in the store. He sees why when they reach the aisle with the high racks of packages. ‘The Liberator’. Sounds...dangerous. But he’s no virgin or child and happens to be aware that it’s just a bunch of various quality and sizes in perfectly innocent wedges with zip-off covers. It’s that part that make it less innocent. These were something you might see a version of in physical therapy he thought. 

Then there were the add-ons. The marital aids, the straps, and then some.

Swallowing hard he thinks, maybe the straps? If he’s careful. He doesn’t want him squirming around much and he knows Paul has been livid about being ordered not to have any sexual contact. Too much movement and even with a second and third opinion from the Otto’s doctors, they weren’t entirely sure how bad the nerve damage was. He also knows Jesus would rather die than never fuck again.

“I know what you’re thinking!” Gretchen hollars, climbing up the racks like a monkey, tossing packages down to Beth who loads them up so they can drive them out to the loading dock where Alicia’s truck is parked.

“Ahem, do *not* tell her sister…” Aaron feels like he has to warn.

“Tell my sister what?” Beth replies in her sweet southern drawl. “I’m helping a friend. And I was never here!” She giggles and swerves away with a small cart of her own. Nothing he could do to stop her really was there?

***

When they finally return late that afternoon, Paul is a bit anxious. “You’ve been out a while. Everything all right? They told me it was but…” He hasn’t been his usual zen self after everything. Who could blame him. The taller man kisses him mid-panic, deep and with a hint of more to come he hopes. 

Jesus actually stumbles. Aaron comes to steady him and Troy is lurking around the corner waiting to make good on his end of the bargain.

“Nicky is setting up your room. Need a babysitter yet?” If he didn’t trust and appreciate everything this man was doing for him (and know what Nick was upstairs doing- setting up the sex furniture, moving the bed out of the way for the furniture that it all went with) he’d be a bit creeped out. 

“You and me tonight. Doctor’s cleared us for a date.” Mr. Unassuming winks and his boyfriend’s eyes go wide. He huddles close to him and does the crazy obsessed dad thing, telling the babysitter about every little thing Dexter needs and prefers while Troy nods patiently, cooing at the tiny baby - how many brushstrokes that long blond hair needs no matter how hard Gracie tries to stray. 

“She’s at that stage you know. Wants to run wild.”

“I got girls of my own. Run along and have a good night.” There’s a lot in those words.

Jesus gives his boyfriend a look, if Aaron planned something- and that’s in Aaron’s very nature- everyone seemed to know except for him.

***

They make their way to their new bedroom, Nick dodging out of the way and politely not saying much except asking who won the bidding war on babysitting their cuties. Apparently there was a loser. Probably the brother/brother-in-law, who had 3 boys of his own. 

“Holy shit,” are the first words out of the smaller man’s mouth.

Aaron wastes no time kissing the back of his neck, carefully shrugging the jacket off of his shoulders, running his hands along his chest and stomach, noting with approval that he’d gone and had his wound redressed today. 

“Hold still.” Paul moans at the command, allowing the larger man to help him gently lay back, carefully pulling his pants off his hips. He works him up with an achingly slow blow job, staring up at him and smirking around his cock, his good hand on a hip to keep him from moving much. “I can and will strap you down if you’re not careful with that back of yours.”

“I can’t believe you *found* and *brought home* sex furniture.” Jesus is pleased. And amused. And stupidly turned on. The position of the wedges leave his hips tilted at the perfect angle of access, he’s open and ready, and he raises both arms above his head. “Here, this help?” Aaron nods as he straps him down, hooks something soft to both ankles.

He pops a cap of lube and starts in, hitting his prostate with each stroke of first one finger, then another, and Paul is flushed all over and panting, begging for more, when Aaron positions himself between his legs. He fucks him slow, making sure to hit that spot each time and when the smaller man comes quickly he stays as still as he can but pleads loudly with him to fuck him through it. Aaron complies, loving the look of relaxed bliss. 

When it’s over, when Jesus begs him to finish inside him, he could already barely hold out any longer if he wanted to himself and he does.

A few moments later he scrambles in the straps around his upper arm and shoulder, producing a sparkly but masculine engagement ring. Paul had always insisted that Aaron wear the one he’d had with Eric on a chain and he does, there’s no sense forgetting your past. But this, right now, is all about them.

“Are you serious? Yes. About time by the way. Did you do all this to make sure I’d say yes?”

“No I did all this because neither of us could stand it anymore and now we can have sex without anything getting in the way.” Paul smiles apologetically at Aaron’s left arm. He’s worked around it beautifully before now and it’s hardly a hindrance most times- admittedly took some getting used to in the bedroom and then he had to go and get hurt himself.

“Well, that was the hottest sex we’ve ever had babe. And yes, again, obviously.” Aaron helps him out of the straps and carefully into their actual bed. “Wow that shit is comfy.”

“Good, I picked up a few pieces I thought might help you sleep comfortably too. Love you.” Jesus rolls his eyes but is grateful.

“Love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth lived. Couldn't help it. Hope you liked it!


	8. Merry Christmas Rick Grimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas from Rick's POV

I guess this is my first true Christmas present this year. A journal. Mr. Otto says I have a common habit among my friends- I talk to myself too much. I’m trying not to wonder if that's his way of telling me to shut the hell up?

There’s no more reason to talk to ghosts. The life I’ve been living allows me to remember them the way they ought to be, but be happy to be here with these people. 

Because, really, this year has been a gift. 

It’s going to be the first holiday season with my new family here. And that’s me being so thankful we found them, and our own fucked up little family blended in as well as it has.

A few of us have have taken to our new hosts for different reasons. Daryl and the boss around here, Troy, have so much in common I couldn’t help but bond with Nick Otto over what is almost like future vision for him - or what it might have been if he’d met Troy a few years later (as he says, I don’t think they’ve got *quite* that much in common…). Not that Nick and I don’t have plenty reasons to bond. 

Despite my being a ‘narc’ (he’ll never drop that I just know it, little bastard) we are cousins by marriage and as they all seem to say around here- another thing I love about the place- is that the most important thing in this new world is family. It’s whoever you manage to keep a hold of these days - blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family - and damn it, let me say again that I’m blessed.

We’ve been preparing for the holidays for weeks. 

It’s hard to believe the little tricks and massive amount of knowledge these ‘preppers’ had well before the shit hit the fan. When I think about all the times I’ve rolled my eyes or felt ‘put-off’ by people like Troy, and even Daryl in the past...I didn’t know shit when the world ended. And 5 years later I hadn’t learned a whole hell of a lot more than that.

For instance, it was Nick and Alicia’s father who brought along the family tradition of S’Mores on Christmas Eve. We had them last night, standing around the kitchen, some of us getting a little drunk and reminiscing while we toasted them on the stove. The Clark children said it wasn’t quite the same but honored dear old dad. Troy spent a couple of damn weeks literally making graham crackers, even molding the fricken chocolate bars. Looked just like a Hershey bar and almost made a few of us cry a little. 

But I don’t really miss the old ways. Our new friends think anyone that has survived this world deserves to be in it. It’s not an apocalypse. That’s hard to say out loud but I’ll let them have it.

Things have been quiet here on the West Coast, aside from rebuilding and repopulating the area.

Aaron and Paul (they’re officially Mr’s now, and Aaron wears Jesus’ and Eric’s ring on his right hand) still take charge when it comes to letting new people in. Their skills for that sort of thing, and for being the go-get-it guys, were immediately recognized.

Speaking of, thanks to Paul (still hard to get used to not saying Jesus and he still prefers only Aaron use his given name) we have a Christmas goose. He brought it in this morning, asked if anyone felt like reawakening an old tradition. We did of course. A few of us were happy to help prepare the bird; if we weren’t already busy over the stove making side dishes with hand-churned butter that is. As Jesus said, ‘geese are dicks’ when someone asked why we were trying to bring the ‘Christmas Goose’ back to the table. This goose had sinned twice apparently. Not only had he proven to be a dick, he was a ‘procrastinating dick’ that should have flown south months ago. Though considering the fact that we'd come from the south ourselves and it was a less than desirable place to be, Jesus hates laziness.

Some of the younger ones are trying to help, and we’re more than happy to teach them. Between Daryl and I we can barely keep Enid and Carl from using the excitement to sneak off- happens more and more these days and Daddy Daryl is just about as ready (not) for it as I am. I gotta talk with Aaron again about sitting them down for a talk...she’s his responsibility, damn it. I'm gonna have my hands full with Judith... I’ve done my part, I hope, already embarrassed Carl enough with that when he was a bit younger; ‘the talk’ is not my idea of a good time but he’s well into his teen years now, and Aaron thinks of that little girl as another adopted child. So it’s our problem together.

Judith still believes us when we sign a few brown paper packages ‘From Santa’. Daryl slips one into Carl’s pile every year, even if there’s only one tiny gift to be had he’s done it for years. Carl has been calling bullshit for most of that time but never to his face.

Jake and Alicia, Mr. and Mrs. Clark, are ‘disagreeing’ over spicing up a dish right now. He’s using every trick in the book he learned in law school and practice to talk her out of it. Too bad for him, she’s the boss in every way there. A bit like I remember her momma being but not...criminally psychotic and now there’s proof she’d been guilty of multiple homicides many years ago as I’d suspected.

Abraham misses no chance to make of his girlfriends, and I can tell that Michonne is holding onto an announcement. Sasha and Abe have been overly protective of her for weeks now and she’s stopped doing runs as of late. I wonder if she’ll tell us at dinner. 

Dinner and exchanges (that weren’t the rushed-kids-can’t-wait-variety) are coming along, and I’d better get my ass to helping. I can see the glare from Jake and Troy’s momma now; Dale is backing her up. 

There’s actually fucking stockings hanging over a fireplace. 

I can smell that goose cooking. Pretty sure I heard the Second Coming say that dinner was just about ready so...I’m going to have to take that under advisement.

**Author's Note:**

> First, happy birthday on Nov 18th to my person. My <3, this is for you lflssfrghtnng.tumblr.com
> 
> I've been really excited about the idea of someone from either show being related to one another and after polling friends on Tumblr and some family that's totally addicted to the show, I decided that Madison and Lori were cousins. I'd be happy to share some more of this headcanon. Hit me up on Tumblr ivebeenmade.tumblr.com


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